6th September, 1895 — The forests, somewhere out past Hawthorne Hollow

Ishmael was more accustomed to the constant, crowded noise of London than he was to the expanse of the forest that stretched around the villages, sounds limited to the creatures within it and the ceaseless susurrations of the leaves.

A vampire had heightened senses, so although Irvingly was still some distance away, Ishmael could have sworn he heard sounds of screaming people carried on the wind. The sounds of chaos, if anything. Enough to pique his curiosity, change his direction. He hadn’t reached the town when he smelled someone – human, he meant – suddenly close amongst the trees. It was still deep enough in the forest for this to be strange; Ishmael moved more noiselessly now, keeping to the shadows until he laid eyes on them, and surmised that all was not well with them.

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open to someone from the Irvingly chaos!
(Are you injured and need help? Did you get lost in the forest trying to get to Hawthorne Hollow? Are you looking for someone? Did you try to apparate and splinch yourself/miss your destination? Open to whatever~)

  

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Wren had managed to escape the mist but had no idea where he was now. He had attempted splinching so was bleeding a little due to having lost a very small snippet off the top of his ear but was otherwise perfectly fine. Nothing a quick Episkey would not fix. It was one of those things where it was definitely worse than it looked.

The more important thing than the blood dripping down the side of his face and neck was that he was lost. He didn't even know where he had ended up. Was he walking in circles? He thought he heard a crunch but it turned out to have come from under his very own boot. He sat on a boulder and tore off some of the fabric of his undershirt so he could hold it up to his ear.

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